


Here There Be Dragons

by idelthoughts



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: (because it's Sam Vimes), F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Tortured Use of Metaphor and Simile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29122341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: Sam Vimes didn't know what he'd done in life to deserve Lady Sybil Ramkin. He held her in the highest esteem for being everything that he wasn't.Unfortunately, the settee might not survive the enthusiasm of his esteem.
Relationships: Sybil Ramkin/Samuel Vimes
Comments: 42
Kudos: 51
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Here There Be Dragons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RobberBaroness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobberBaroness/gifts).



> When I saw your request for Sam and Sybil, I had to give it a try because I share your love of their love! Thank you for giving me a fun opportunity to explore a moment in the beginning of their romance.
> 
> Many thanks go to my excellent beta, who gently nudged me at swordpoint into writing again this year. You do always seem to know what's best for me, my dear.

When Samuel Vimes looked back on this night, he could never remember what he said to make Sybil laugh with such unabashed delight. All he remembered was that he had never wanted anything in all his life so much as he wanted to kiss Lady Sybil Ramkin.

Sybil laughed with her entire self; hands to her heart, belly shaking, deep smile lines on her face, voice booming with full-throated guffaws. Her laughter made him forget he was a miserable undeserving bastard from Cockbill Street, steeped in Ankh-Morpork’s gutters and marinated in a barrel of Bearhugger’s. Instead, her laughter inspired his own, and he was transported to a world where he might be a better man, if only to be worthy of her company. What kind of magic did she possess that she could soothe the furious parts of himself he’d tried[1] to drown for years?

In fact, he hadn’t had a drink in a month because the idea of sobriety was much less terrible than the idea of Lady Ramkin gazing down her nose at him and shutting the door in his drunken face. However, sobriety came with the side effect of greatly increased, er, _vigour_. After the dragon incident, he had quite a few vivid dreams featuring a lot of enthusiastic, thank-god-we-lived, “mutual appreciation” with Lady Ramkin. She invited him for dinner together, then another, and then another, and suddenly Vimes couldn’t think of anything else. So far, he was coping through more acts of “solo appreciation” than he’d performed since he was a youngster. But, the more he came around to visit her for dinner, the less easy it was to keep himself to himself.

He was sure if he tried anything she’d toss him out on his ear, booming such things as _of all the impudence_ , and _you mangy cur_ in that commanding voice of hers. That voice did funny things to his insides; it made him want to stand to attention like a raw recruit withering under his sergeant’s ire.[2] Indeed, parts of him did stand to attention on the occasions when she used that voice. He hoped he’d been discreet enough that she hadn’t noticed, but she’d gotten a suspicious twinkle in her eye once or twice that made him suspect that not much slipped past Lady Ramkin. She hadn’t thrown him out so far, which was enough to give him hope, even though he knew he had nothing to offer her that was near worth what she deserved. 

But a man can only endure so much. In that moment when the Disc itself stopped moving so that the whole universe could better appreciate the joyfulness of Sybil’s laughter, and he was gaping at the sight of her sitting so close to him, all warm and beautiful in her womanly _womanliness_ …

He leaned over to close the distance between them on the settee,[3] put a hand to her soft, round cheek, and pressed his lips to hers. If this was the point when the book shut and ended the magical fairy story that had become his life, then so be it. He’d be lucky to have even this much.

Sybil had gone still, and the room’s silence was drowned out by the thudding of his pulse. He pulled back from her to see how much trouble he’d gotten himself into.

To his horror, she had tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “Oh, gods, I’m so—“

She caught his hand before he could snatch it away.

“No, don’t be.”

Confused, but pleased not to be gasping on the floor from a well-deserved kick in the fork, he brushed his thumb under her eye to wipe away a tear. He had no idea what to do when women cried, but he was willing to ignore the voice in his head that was shrieking at him to _back away with your hands up, you idiot!_ if he could make her feel better—especially after having unwittingly caused her this sadness in the first place.

She gave a watery snort and rolled her eyes as she patted his hand on her cheek.

“Don’t panic, you silly man. I’m just surprised I didn’t have to proposition you myself. And, perhaps, just a little, a woman does begin to wonder after a while, if…”

The note of insecurity in her voice that was very uncharacteristic of the Lady Ramkin he’d come to know and cherish. 

She _wondered?_ Ye gods, she was the most captivating person he’d ever met. Even sobriety was tolerable—no, _pleasurable_ —with her as part of his life. He was shocked he’d held out this long, and she _wondered?_

Her uncertainty made his heart clench in all sorts of complicated ways, and the only answer for that was to kiss her again and hope she wouldn’t cry anymore.

This time she responded very enthusiastically, and if anyone was to cry again tonight, it would be Sam Vimes.

His rational mind went on holiday. It kicked back on some tropical beach somewhere far on the other side of the Disc to enjoy warm ocean breezes and sunshine while his hands seized the opportunity, so to speak, to explore those areas which had, to this point been strictly _Window Shopping Only_. Sybil similarly took his leave to re-familiarize herself with those parts of him she’d thoroughly mapped out early in their acquaintance—a memory he’d revisited several times, for which he felt no guilt whatsoever since it was his arse that had been flapping in the wind getting the unexpected rubdown of a lifetime, thank you very much—and his hands started collaborating with his imagination about where this path might take him if he was very, very lucky.

The path, however, was approaching a very big signpost proclaiming _Point of No Return_.[4] A great deal of him was pressed against a great deal of her, and it took a few solid kicks before his brain reluctantly got up off the beach lounger and waded back to him through the disorienting fog of perfume, cloth, and softness.

Most of the throw pillows had been knocked to the floor in a joint effort to create real estate for activities that a distinguished settee was not designed to accommodate. It creaked out a warning when he shifted to try and take some of his weight off her so that he might less forcefully press his suit, as it were. 

“Well, then,” he said, and his voice cracked to a spectacular register before he brought it back under control. He forced himself to meet her eye, and there was that twinkle again, damn it. “Er, that is to say, Lady Ramkin—“

“Sam, call me Sybil. I think having had your face in my bosom puts us comfortably on a first name basis.”

Errol’s dyspeptic flames had nothing on the heat that radiated from his cheeks. He flushed red from his neck to the tips of his ears. Even his hair was blushing.

“Yes—yes, I suppose it does,” he stuttered. “I just—wasn’t sure if—if I should—“

“I can send you a formal invitation if you like, Sam, but we’re not getting any younger.”

Sybil shifted against him in a way that promised nothing but hardship in the beleaguered settee’s future, and his brain gave him a jaunty salute before sauntering off to leave him to his explorations of the great unknown that was Lady Sybil Ramkin.

 _Here there be dragons_ , he thought giddily as she pulled him down for another kiss.

Vimes might have forgotten what he said that made her laugh that evening, but he certainly did remember everything else with crystal-clarity.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 and failed [return to text]
> 
> 2 With Lady Ramkin’s stately authority, it was more like being dressed down by a general. She wielded the entire weight of the aristocracy like a blackjack, then tucked it away under sensible jackets and trousers and a pleasant demeanour, leaving a person wondering what had just happened. [return to text]
> 
> 3 Yes, an honest-to-gods settee. Sam Vimes had never sat on a settee in his life, nor considered going anywhere near one on the rare occasions he’d encountered a settee in the wild. [return to text]
> 
> 4 In fact, he suspected he’d flown merrily past a number of signposts, and this sign was just a courtesy to wish him a pleasant stay. [return to text]


End file.
